


Like Garbage

by NajikaSun



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: And you know it's even more confusing than that because it's a Layton game, Anyway this was a tumblr request and I liked it enough to post it here, Have some emotional boys, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, Unrequited Crush, but I mean if you've played the game you know it happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NajikaSun/pseuds/NajikaSun
Summary: "Upon further reflection in a lighter place, it became slowly clear that you were incredibly selfish.  I was only feeling so torn out of pity, perhaps jealousy.  But, like usual, you were adamant in your decisions, from the moment you refused to follow Angela’s request to the last second I held onto your hand before you slipped.  And you left me with a heavy despair weighing down on my shoulders, and not only from losing you to the everlasting caves we trekked."Hershel's PoV, reflecting on Randall's almost selfish nature in the Akbadain ruins.





	Like Garbage

Upon further reflection in a lighter place, it became slowly clear that you were incredibly selfish. I was only feeling so torn out of pity, perhaps jealousy. But, like usual, you were adamant in your decisions, from the moment you refused to follow Angela’s request to the last second I held onto your hand before you slipped. And you left me with a heavy despair weighing down on my shoulders, and not only from losing you to the everlasting caves we trekked. 

~~~~~

The world around us for approximately seven and a half hours was dark and musty, like every attic I’d ever had to scour. I could feel the dust settling into my hair, frustrating as it seeped into my skin, as if the gaping maw of the cave was attempting to swallow us both whole. As I fought with the heavy rucksack and trudged through uneven ground, avoiding the security traps still set in the depths while simultaneously drowning in anxiety and riding a wave of adrenaline, you - oh, you. You were _radiant_. You were _radiant_ and your enthusiastic grin could breathe so much life into this dreary cave. You beckoned I follow, and I did. I now regret giving in so easily to your whims.

I admit, I only half-listened to your hopes and dreams of fortune and fame that would come from this endeavor. Your excitable voice had lulled me into a false sense of peace, as it so often did, even in the most dangerous and uncomfortable of places. ( _Not to mention, you brushed off my anxiety as exhilaration._ ) We stopped on the sixth floor down and after a few moments, you waved a hand in front of my face and redirected my attention to the here and now. You laughed for a few moments, music that tamed the anxious waves of a non-explorer. I mumbled an apology and offered a small smile, both of which were seemingly ignored and then instantly dissipated in the depths of the cave once you spoke.

“Hershel…” you sighed for a second before resuming, “There is another reason behind all this…I’ll tell you now.” Another pause, your eyes filling with something foreign. “After all of this is over, I’m going to propose to Angela.”

Your words after that blurred past in a smear, like a fountain pen left for too long on a sheet of paper, blacking out any and all thoughts into a dark and incoherent fog. I sputtered out a response, attempting to retain the positivity that you were emitting with each passing moment, and it finally dawned on me that you wanted my help in order only for your own personal gain. You desired my help to explore the Akbadain ruins, infamous for being dangerous and possibly deadly, in order to gain the fame and wealth necessary to break free from your father’s clutches and marry Angela, the girl of everybody’s apparent teenage dreams.

Some part of me quickly realized that the opportunity to ask to kiss you had been forcefully and entirely shut down. And somehow, despite knowing that you couldn’t have known that, it hurt worse than your ignorance towards my feelings surrounding this entire situation. As we continued, I could only repeat to myself that we were only teenagers, doing stupid things in a dangerous cave that would most likely get us both killed, our bodies nowhere to be found and our friends and families distraught—

_I stepped, and the floor sunk below my foot._

The next five minutes went by in milliseconds, and before I could even do so much as breathe, you were dangling off a cliff by my hand, and you refused to let go of your archaeological find and you slipped, falling faster and faster into the abyss below until I couldn’t even see you anymore. I screamed your name and wept atop that cliff until I could hardly breathe, and once I made my way out of the labyrinth you shoved me into, I had to somehow resurface myself from the inky depths of self-deprecation and tell Angela and Henry – _your future wife and your obvious best friend_ – that you were dead. I watched them cry, and I watched your parents cry and I watched my parents cry, tears shed that I couldn’t bring myself to join anymore, because you were a liar and I trusted you would at least make it out _alive_ after using me for that long.

Once I was finally alone and my house was finally quiet, my mother came into the room and sat beside me where I lie, on the edge of my bed. Wordlessly, she placed a hand on my head, at a loss for once in her life, it would seem. I didn’t fight against her touch, turning over to exhaustedly face her. She leaned down and pulled me into an awkward but well-meaning hug, holding me against her shoulder like she used to when I was smaller. After what seemed like an eternity, as time had dragged to a halt once you died, I heard her ask what I was feeling.

How could I answer a question like that after this, without sounding like a selfish child? How could I face my mother without sounding like I had watched his life extinguish and not felt sorry for him, but for _myself_ instead? After a hesitant and shaky breath, afraid and alone and pathetic, I spoke into her dress.

“…Like garbage.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Nichiiko on Tumblr for the fic request! You can find me on Tumblr at NajikaSun or NajikaSunArt - both are me. :) Hope you enjoyed these sad bois


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